Desperate Means
by Syberian Quest
Summary: "I would do anything to get my sister back. Absolutely anything. Wouldn't you?"


**Slightly AU.**

_I started it before the initial book's release; many apologies for not finishing it beforehand. It is based off the summary for A King's Ransom, so it does not contradict with the series entirely. _

_And just as a slight warning, the characters and genres selected may not appear to match at first. I did this for a reason. The main conflict _is _between them, but the entire scenario is narrated by an "outsider." This is also a story based entirely off of "what ifs." I pieced together a few phrases from summaries and past books that sparked the idea, but no, it will never happen. I realize that. But I felt compelled to write it for the sake of my sanity and because the sheer lack of emotion from Ian in the Medusa Plot bugged me. Not all may agree with how I portray Ian, but that's fine. Again, like I said, this is an AU scenario. I like looking at it from a "this is very unlikely but it could still happen" point of view. I also firmly believe that, whether they claim impartiality or not, the Cahill kids still hold _some _degree of bitterness against the Kabras. It would be unrealistic not to. _

_It took me _extremely _long to finish this, probably because the series has taken a different spin on Ian's character, but I finished it nevertheless, even if it's not my most exquisite accomplishment. I hope you enjoy it. :)_

* * *

><p>"They want us to do <em>what?"<em>

Amidst the swirling vortex of voices resonating from within the impenetrable fortress walls, one vividly cut through the others, its clarity rivaling that of a foghorn piercing a misty morning that was overshadowed by a thick of clouds.

Yeah, right. A two-by-four _sporting _a foghorn _with _added amplifier was more like it. The man's lungs were completely inhuman. And at the sound of his voice (more like a roar), every head instantaneously whipped around in his direction. Well, except for the poor suckers sitting right beside him. They were covering their ears and holding on for dear life, probably wracking their brains as to whether or not their insurance plan covered a hearing aid.

'Cause they were gonna need it.

But it wasn't the first time this kind of thing had happened. In fact, we were in yet another bought of complete Cahill chaos, and as usual there had been Old Faithful, managing to shut everyone else up with his own cries of panic. Or in most cases, utter confusion.

Noting Eisenhower's look of total bewilderment (or was that helplessness?), my eyes began to scan the rest of the faces that had gone back to anxiously, albeit silently, staring at us. I, too, turned to stare at my sister, not being able to stand their fearful gazes any longer as I waited for her to come up with some logical and stupidly simple reassurance to calm the masses down. Because if anyone could motivate such a wild and crazy bunch to save the world by emphasizing the principal of teamwork to the point of redundancy, it was her. But to my surprise, and probably everyone else's, she remained motionless.

Slumped in her black office chair with a furrowed brow, pained expression, and eyes sealed tightly shut, I could sense that something besides the fact we were being forced to find some nonexistent map within the next 48 hours was wrong. Very wrong.

"Amy," I whispered softly, giving the elbow of her emerald-green sweater a small tug. "Are you all right?"

She sighed, but her eyelids remained motionless, her index fingers working slow circles around her temples. "What do you think?" she responded sharply.

I dropped my gaze, despite the fact she wasn't even looking, and bit my tongue. Of course she wasn't all right. None of us were.

Forcing myself to turn away from the desperate gazes of our cousins and my sister's rather frightening silence, I found myself staring directly at an open pill bottle hastily discarded at the edge of the table behind us. It lay open, and two pills, spilled upon the mahogany table, remained.

I swallowed hard. They were only Advils, but I had seen Amy down at least two within the past six hours. I had no idea how many more she had taken.

"Amy?" I whispered again, more urgently this time. She couldn't break. Not now. We needed her to be strong. We couldn't do this without her. _I _couldn't do this without her.

She cocked her head slightly towards the sound of my voice, and a sigh of relief almost escaped my throat as her eyelids gently began to pry themselves apart. Giving me a weak smile, she turned towards the others, her swivel chair rotating directly away from me.

"You all heard what they want," she proclaimed, the superficial authority in her voice taking up every ounce of strength she had left. "The map within 48 hours. No excuses."

A collective gasp arose from among the group, along with a voice proclaiming, "They can't be serious!"

She nodded grimly. "Oh, they're dead serious. And to show us just how serious they are, they took the liberty of sending another hostage's picture."

Complete silence descended upon the room. I felt like I was suffocating.

Finally, someone dared to break the stillness, dared to ask the question everyone was dying – and dreading – to have answered. "Whi-which one is it?" Sinead muttered feebly, a thin line of sweat dotting her brow. I also noticed that she couldn't stop wringing her hands.

"Natalie. It's Natalie, isn't it?"

The voice came abruptly, shattering the nervous tension with as much tact as a child popping a balloon. My heart caught in my throat, and I glanced nervously at Amy, waiting to see how she would respond.

Because I already knew the answer.

She was looking off into a corner of our modest meeting place, gazing solemnly at a figure meticulously located several feet away from the others. The entire room was bare – no furnishings could attempt to conceal the real reason anyone ever came to this place – except for a blackboard behind the two of us for planning, several chairs, and two tables. Only a shabby fluorescent lighting system operated in the room, which managed to cast weird shadows over the walls, especially by the doorway. The dastardly Cobra had managed to half hide himself among them, making it somewhat difficult for anyone to see his face. To me, however, it came as no surprise that he had been so bold as to keep himself a good distance away from the rest of the group. When he had joined us, it hadn't been willingly.

My sister continued staring off into the dimly-lit corner, vainly attempting to catch sight of the person she was speaking to. I also noticed her take a deep breath as she prepared to drop the devastating bombshell.

"Yes. It's Natalie."

Mixed reactions played out across the room. Some let out sighs of relief, glad that their loved ones weren't the ones in jeopardy, and others cringed, knowing just what this meant for both Natalie and Ian. Plenty of looks filled with pity were sent in his direction, but in the darkness, it was impossible to observe his reaction.

And suddenly, his reasoning for remaining hidden in the shadows made complete sense. Maybe it _had _been because of more than just disdain.

I glanced back at my sister, who was trying with all her might to keep her emotions in check. Apparently, telling someone their little sister was only days away from death wasn't easy. Even I couldn't help feeling a _little _pity for the guy.

"So," interjected Hamilton as he stood up from his seat in between Jonah and his remaining sister, "now that we know what they want and who's at risk, let's get started, people. Time is money!" He stopped and pondered his last statement for a moment. "Or, you know, a matter of life and death, but it's basically the same thing."

At any other point in time I would have cracked a smile at his humorous antics, but not now. Nothing was funny about this situation.

"That's right!" Eisenhower declared. "Time is money!" He paused awkwardly for a moment. "So… uh, where do we start?"

Amy scowled and slumped back in her chair. "I have absolutely no idea."

"Well, it might help if y'all tell us everything you know about the map," Jonah offered supportively. "I mean, that made a big difference last time when we, you know, saved all the hostages from impending doom and all that jazz."

"Yes, and let them shoot Nellie," Amy added pessimistically.

Ignoring her remark, Sinead decided to step in. "So what _do _you know about the map? I mean, you have to know _something_."

"Barely something, if you can call it that," I muttered.

Amy shot me a warning glance before swiveling back to face Sinead. "This is what we know: the map was made and displayed in Poland until World War II. When the Nazis invaded, they carried off countless treasures for their own "super" museums. After 1945, a lot of these items were either returned to the country, taken by the US or Russia, or sold to private collectors. Many of these items were lost for decades, and even now, there are still those that apparently vanished – like this map."

"But aren't there any clues?" Sinead persisted. "Sightings, speculation, _anything_?"

"No," Amy responded bitterly, "not a thing. It could be in Russia, the States, Poland – for all we know some German war criminal might have grabbed it and taken it with him to Argentina!" She placed her head in her hands in defeat. "It could be _anywhere_."

"That's a pretty broad range," Eisenhower skillfully observed. "And judging by the time-" He glanced at his watch. "-we'd better get started. We're down to 47 hours and 38 minutes."

I glanced at the wall clock, the one thing that prevented the walls from being completelybare. Something about the second hand mesmerized me, and I found myself unable to look away.

_Tick…Tick…Tick…_

And it startled me how the hands just kept moving. Unlike my video games, there was no pause button, no way to stop for a bathroom break or strategy session. Time just kept ticking.

"Forty-eight hours, thirty-eight minutes, and thirty-three seconds. Forty-eight hours, thirty-eight minutes, and thirty-two seconds. Forty-eight hou-"

"We get it, Dad," Madison protested, pushing her dad's watch arm towards his side. "Time's ticking."

"Yeah," I added dryly. "Time's ticking. So what are we doing about it?"

No one answered. As more precious seconds slipped away, we sat there, doing _nothing_. Never in my life had I been so ashamed of sitting on my butt.

"So I suppose this is it, then?"

The cold voice startled me. I had almost forgotten his presence entirely, and his sudden reentry into the conversation caught us all off guard.

My sister glanced up from her stupor. "What's it?"

"This. All of you sitting here and doing nothing."

"We're not doing nothing," I objected defensively. "We're _thinking_, which usually comes before the whole 'doing' part."

"Yeah," Eisenhower readily agreed. "And thinking _is _a lot of work."

I could practically see the snarl forming across the Cobra's lips. Clearly, he was not impressed. Not particularly surprising.

"Thinking," he responded slowly, formulating the word with his tongue as though it were a particularly distasteful set of syllables. "And that's all?"

Amy glared at him. "Well, what else do you expect us to do?"

"A whole lot more than this!" He took a step forward, finally revealing the expression playing across his face. His amber eyes flashed dangerously, and just as I had suspected, a snarl darkened his features. But there was something else there, something I hadn't expected to find. Behind the fury, mixed in with the flames, there was a twinge of fear. Of despair.

Then it hit me. He was at _our _mercy. For once, he needed _us_. By himself, he had no chance of saving his sister from the Vespers' clutches. The only way he could ever possibly hope to see her again was if we managed to find the map. And if we refused to help him, then there was nothing more he could do. For once, he needed us. And for once, I was the one left feeling empowered.

With this new knowledge, I suddenly felt bolder. "You're a Lucian, Cobra," I snapped. "Why don't _you _come up with a plan? After all, your sister is the hostage. You should be the one trying to save her."

He whirled on me, his dark eyes penetrating my thoughts, and I froze.

"You don't think I am?"

The words were meant to sound cold, uncaring, but somehow they contorted into a desperate plea. His posture was rigid, but beneath the impenetrable exterior, I could sense a slight tremor spreading throughout his body. My eyes never moved an inch away from his.

"I would move mountains if that was what it took," he whispered. "But it's not enough." He finally looked away, shifting his stare from me onto my sister. They locked gazes.

I could sense her nervousness, see her groping for the courage to respond.

"W-we're doing a-all we can."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

Amy swallowed hard, and unwittingly, I found myself doing the same.

"Because I distinctly remember," he continued as he turned his back to us and faced the wall, "that when your beloved au pair was the one in jeopardy, you did a lot more than this."

"We had leads then!" I protested.

"How many?" he asked, whirling on me again. "How many leads?"

I had the grace to look down. "Almost nothing."

"Yet you moved mountains." He turned pleading eyes onto my sister. "Why not again?"

And suddenly, I was sick of it. After two years, nothing had changed. He was still using us. We were the only ones he was trying to manipulate, to force into saving his sister. Because if we went, then so would all the others.

We were still his targets.

Furiously, I pushed back my swivel chair and took two menacing steps in Ian's direction. "That's it, Cobra. I'm sick and tired of you trying to manipulate us. We're doing all we can. And in case you've conveniently forgotten," I added in a seething tone, "this isn't just about her. There's more at stake here. It's obvious the Vespers want more than just decomposing art."

He ignored me, refusing to tear his eyes away from Amy. "I know you're capable of saving my sister."

"R-really?" she stammered, struggling to keep her nervousness at bay. "Because I thought you believed we weren't capable of anything. We're just penniless orphans, remember?"

He blinked. "I never said that."

"Well, you sure implied it when you left us in Korea!" I burst out, finally through with the guy's arrogance. I stepped towards him, forcing him backwards until he was trapped against the far table. "And when you tried to kill us in Russia and Indonesia and South Africa, and oh, don't forget almost helping your 'dear Mummy' throw my sister to the sharks in Australia! You're just lucky we're helping you at all."

I paused, breathing heavily, my body surging with a mixture of adrenaline and rage, as I waited for his response. He was quiet, his back still pressed against the table, but something about his expression hardened. His previously pleading features were suddenly replaced by a veil, transforming his face into something cold… and frightening.

I froze, suddenly wondering if I had overstepped my boundaries, if I had gone too far. He was, after all, a Kabra. He was unpredictable.

Slowly, he began to come back to life, pulling himself up to his full height, but his eyes burned with something almost unrecognizable.

"So is that why you refuse to help us? Because of the Clue hunt? Because Isabel is our mother?" he hissed, an edge to his voice that made me take a step backwards. "And here I thought we had put that behind us. I thought we had agreed to do whatever it takes to return our loved ones safe and sound, _no matter who they are_."

"We are, Ian," Amy replied soothingly, finally having managed to overcome her initial apprehension. "We're doing all we can."

"No," he snarled. "You aren't." He glared at Amy. "If it was your beloved uncle, your precious au pair, _then _you would do everything. _Then _you would move mountains."

No one dared to respond.

"Maybe you don't know what it's like to lose a sibling, Amy," he continued coldly, "but I would do _anything _to get my sister back. _Absolutely anything_. Wouldn't you?"

She remained silent.

"_Wouldn't you?" _

And suddenly, I found myself being yanked into an iron-tight hold, cold arms pressing me against an equally frigid body. I struggled, but the grasp only tightened across my chest, causing me to gasp for breath. Angrily, I opened my mouth, fully intending to bring down my jaw upon the arms imprisoning me, when a cold metal surface pressed itself firmly against my throat, digging into my flesh.

I froze.

"Wouldn't you?"

This time, Amy nodded.

My body slackened, the fight inside of me melting away, and I fell still.

He was threatening me, and it was all to get to my sister. This wasn't about us. This about _her_. It was always about her. She had always been the one he manipulated, and he was doing it yet again. This was their fight. It always would be. But this time, it had to be different.

She had to win.

With as much courage as I could muster, I pushed down the fear gnawing at my body and forced myself to remain calm. I had to be brave. For her. She couldn't know I was scared.

Carefully, I moved my head mere millimeters to the right, risking a peak at her face. Surprisingly – and to my great amazement – it was perfectly calm. I did a double take. Amy was always the first to panic – why not now?

I twisted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the blade jutting into my jugular stopped me short.

"You know what it's like to lose someone?" Ian inquired sharply, his voice cold and calculating.

Her lips formed the words "I do," although no audible sound emerged.

"Speak louder," he ordered.

This time she cleared her throat, meeting his gaze with a cold stare of her own. "You know I do."

The knife pressed deeper into my skin, forcing its way into my flesh, as the strong arms holding me tightened their grip, resulting in a series of gagging sounds. Apparently Mr. Cobra was a bit touchy about matters pertaining to his mother's misdemeanors. I squirmed uncomfortably and glared at my captor to the very best of my abilities.

"If you're so knowledgeable on the subject," he snapped, "then why weren't you the first one in line to keep my sister alive?" I could almost see the sneer spreading across his face. "Going back on your unbreakable Madrigal word, are we?" he mocked.

Amy remained silent.

"_Answer me!" _he thundered.

Slowly, and with great care, she began to rise from her chair. Putting up her hands as if in surrender, she began to speak both confidently and without a stutter.

"I'm not going back on my word, Ian. You know me better than that." Her hands clenched together, forming small fists, and she pressed them tightly to her side. "And we're not giving up on your sister. I promise."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "_You promise_? Is that so? Because from where I'm standing, it appears as though you've already given up. You gave up as soon as you realized she was the one at stake."

"That's not-"

"_It is_," he hissed, causing me to tense in fear, expecting the final blow to come any second. "And don't deny it. You know it just as well as I. She's Natalie Kabra, and because of that, she doesn't deserve the same treatment as the others. Her life isn't as valuable."

Cold shivers began to run up my spine at his words. Up until this point, his voice had been frigid and icy, every bit as cold as Isabel's. It was unnerving to hear the same flinty edge in Ian's voice.

Pulling one arm away from me, he waved towards the others. "Last time, what did we do?" When no one answered, he ignored their conspicuous silence, and continued. "Research. Analyzing. Anything and everything to please their captors. But this time? _Nothing_. You've given up before we even started." He paused, allowing his harsh dose of reality to hit home. "And why? Because her mother is Isabel Kabra. Because she isn't the saint all you undoubtedly are."

Something inside me recoiled at his sardonic remark. No, we weren't saints, but at least we were better than _him_. Better than a Kabra. Because no matter how low we had sunk during the Clue hunt, it had never gotten as bad as them. All least that much was true.

But when I glanced back at my sister's face, I could tell she wasn't thinking the same thing. In fact, her expression seemed to say the exact opposite.

_Don't listen to him, Amy. You can't trust a Kabra, remember? We can still save Natalie, but you can't let him manipulate you._

I squirmed again, trying to get my sister's attention. Because no matter what, she couldn't give in to this creep's demands.

"_If _it had been Fiske or Nellie, then this room would already be empty," he continued, his voice rising in both volume and ferocity. "No one would be sitting here twiddling their thumbs and counting down the seconds on a wristwatch. Russia, Poland, Argentina – it doesn't matter. You'd trek across the entire globe for them." He squeezed my arm, and I winced in pain. "For _any _of them."

Pushed so closely against him, I could feel his jagged breathing underneath the pristine Armani shirt. I clenched my teeth in anticipation. He wasn't done yet.

"Any of them!" he repeated, the sound so loud it hurt my ears. All hint of an edge had long since vanished from his voice. Only rage remained. "A buffoon of a Holt, a blind Starling, even a Janus with no musical ability! You'd save any of them before you'd save her. But are they any better?" His voice held an air of disdain. "As I recall, that little bomb at Franklin Institution had _nothing _to do with us."

Hamilton's face turned a peculiar shade of cherry red.

"And I don't believe we were the only ones fickle about our alliances. Your little burrito friend had us beat by a landslide."

I grit my teeth together, desperately attempting to hold back my temper. Alistair may have lied to us over and over again, but at least he had never tried to _kill _us.

"But obviously," he remarked savagely, "you virtuous and pious Madrigals have put that all behind you! A fresh start, clean slate, all past sins forgiven – except for ours. Except for our _mother's_. Because I know," he continued, his voice suddenly beginning to climb another octave," that if any other hostage's picture had been sent, if _any _one of those thieves' and liars' and traitors' pictures had been sent, you would be hopping on the next plane to Buenos Aires or Berlin this instant. You would do anything, absolutely _anything, _for anyone other than Natalie Kabra." He stiffened. "Do you hear me? _ANYONE!" _

Not a muscle twitched as the thunderous crackle of his voice echoed across the soundless room. No one dared to.

"Anyone," he repeated weakly, the fight draining from his voice, the pressure on my throat suddenly slackening. "Anyone except Natalie. Except a Kabra."

I could hear the defeat in his voice, feel the energy draining from his body. This was my time to strike, to escape, to-

"Fine."

I jerked my head up, finding myself staring straight into my sister's cool, jade-green eyes. But they didn't meet mine. They were staring at Ian.

"Fine," she repeated. "We'll help you."

I swallowed hard, barely able to believe my ears. I had almost had him! A little longer and I would have broken free, been able to get away without the need for any promises or negotiations or anything else. Why had she given in so easily?

A sudden burst of energy seized my captor, and I could feel the knife swiftly reclaim its former pressure against my tepid skin. "You… You're serious?" he managed hoarsely. Apparently he couldn't believe it either.

Pulling my gaze away from the knife at my throat, I managed to catch a glimpse of my sister's solemn nod and the incredulous looks of those watching as the scene played out.

"I am. We'll help you. We'll help you until… until there's nothing more we can do. I promise."

The knife suddenly released its hold, and the hands of iron grasping me fell limply at Ian's side, as loosely as a rag doll's.

"That's all I ask," he whispered as he stepped away, carelessly tossing the knife back onto the table before disappearing through the doorway into the darkened voidness of the hall.

His last words had been soft, so soft that I doubted anyone could hear them besides me. But to my dismay, Amy's small nod indicated otherwise. Somehow she had heard. Or else, she had known without hearing.

Only we were supposed to do that.

I could hear his footsteps echo endlessly in the empty passageway, but I refused to look back, despite the temptation. He didn't deserve it.

Rubbing my neck protectively, feeling for any signs of severed skin, I turned back towards my sister. I didn't care if the others watched. All I wanted were some answers.

"Why did you promise to help him?" I hissed vehemently. "He had a knife at my throat! He doesn't deserve our help; he never has! And if you hadn't broken in with your little 'We'll help you' speech, then I could have easily broken away-"

"It was dull, Dan. The knife was dull."

I stopped midsentence, waiting for the entire implication of her words to fully sink in. "You mean…?"

She nodded. "I mean it's dull, Dan. Everybody knew it. It was Hamilton's, but since it didn't work, he dumped it there in plain view of everyone. We all knew it was dull. He didn't try to keep it a secret."

I took a sudden step back, turning towards the spot where I had seen Ian drop the knife. I reached out and grasped it in the palm of my hand, turning it over carefully and staring at the chipped and tattered bleak-gray blade. It was about as sharp as dull safety scissors.

I swallowed hard, still digesting the information. "But if it was dull, then why did he…?"

"He was desperate."

"And you still agreed to help him? Even though I wasn't in any danger?" I glared angrily at her, ignoring the numerous pairs of eyes staring at my back.

"Yes," she responded coolly. "I did."

"Why?" I demanded. "Why would help a _Cobra_? After all the times that he tried to kill us and hurt us – hurt _you _- we don't owe him _anything_. The Kabras deserve nothing from us. _Nothing_."

My last word hung ominously in the air, reverberating in my ears over and over again. A deafening silence would come as a welcome relief.

I turned away, finally letting go of the knife in my hand and finding a small amount of relief in its echoing clatter.

"You're right, Dan."

Her words startled me, forcing my head to turn automatically in her direction. She gazed at me steadily, a silent strength in her eyes that I had not seen in weeks.

"You're right. We don't owe them anything. But if I were in his place – " She paused, looking down briefly before reuniting her eyes with mine. "If I were in his place, I would have done the exact same thing."

I nodded, reluctantly acknowledging the truth.

I would have too.


End file.
